“Take care!” I cried, my blood fairly boiling as I spoke.  He saw his mistake.

“I didn’t mean no harm, partner.  But what’s the use of being high toned when it don’t pay?”

“It always pays to be honest,” I said firmly.

“There are those who don’t think so any more than I,” he replied.

“My father never was a thief.  They may say all they please, I will always think him innocent.”

“Humph!”

“If it hadn’t been for men like you and Nicholas Weaver, my father would never be in prison.”

The words were out before I knew it.  They were most injudicious ones.

“What do you mean?” gasped the man.  “What do you know about Nick Weaver?”

“More than you imagine.  When he died he made a confession—­”

“It’s false.  Nick Weaver wasn’t in his right mind when he died, anyhow.”

“Perhaps he was.”

“What you—­” began the man.  Then he paused and began a rapid search in his pockets.  “You’ve got that paper,” he cried hoarsely.  “Give it up,” and as he spoke, John Stumpy took a threatening step toward me.

“Stand back!” and I raised the pistol.

I was trembling in every limb, but I actually believe I would have fired it if he had rushed upon me.

“I won’t.  Give up that paper.”

“Never.  I’ll die first.”

And die I would.  His earnestness convinced me of the letter’s worth.  If it contained that which could clear my father’s name, only death would be the means of parting me from it.

“Give it up, I say!  Do you think I’m to be defeated by a boy?”

“Stand back!”

I raised the pistol on a level with his head.  As I did so, he made a dash forward and caught up a stick which was lying near.

“I’ll fix you!” he roared, and swinging the billet over his head, he brought it down with all his force on my arm, causing the pistol to fly from my hand into a corner beyond.

“Now we’ll see who’s master here,” he cried exultingly.  “You’re a smart boy, but you don’t know everything!” Rushing over to the corner, he secured the pistol and aimed it at me.  “Now, we’ll settle this matter according to my notions,” he went on triumphantly.

CHAPTER VIII

 The struggle

I was deeply chagrined at the unexpected turn affairs had taken, and I felt decidedly uncomfortable as John Stumpy levelled the weapon at my head.  I could readily see that the battle of words was at an end.  Action was now the order of the day.  I wondered what the fellow would do next; but I was not kept long in suspense.

“Now, it’s my turn, young fellow,” he remarked, with a shrewd grin, as I fell back.

“Well, what do you want?” I asked, as coolly as I could recognizing the fact that nothing was to be gained by “stirring him up.”

“You’ll see fast enough.  In the first place, hand over that paper.”